


The Games We Play

by Shadaras



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: First Time, M/M, Strip Sabaac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: “Standard rules,” Chirrut says, andwowObi-Wan can hear the glee in his voice now. “Let’s play strip sabaac, Obi-Wan.”The impliedUnless Jedi are too prudishgrates at Obi-Wan, and—He looks between the two young men, seeing the way they balance and support each other, and thinks,If they want me to join them, if they think there’s harmony to be found here…and then he says, “Okay. If you think we’re all wearing equivalent stakes, I’m in.”
Relationships: Chirrut Îmwe/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Baze Malbus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yujacheong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/gifts).



It’s after the evening meal and they’re sitting in the apprentice bunkroom that Chirrut and Baze share when Chirrut taps Obi-Wan with his staff—it’s too beaten-up to look like its main purpose is just helping him make his way around Jedha—and says, “So, what do you do for fun?”

Obi-Wan glances at him, this man just a few years younger than him, and says, “Depends on where I am.”

Baze snorts on his other side. “Bad choice, friend; now he’s going to pick the game.”

And indeed, Chirrut’s already leading forward, a gleam in his clouded eyes. “How well do you play sabaac, Obi-Wan?”

“Depends on the rules.” Obi-Wan grins at Chirrut, certain that the intent will come across. For someone the Jedi hadn’t claimed, the Force moves quite powerfully around him. “What rules are you thinking? And what are the stakes? I don’t think any of us have much money.”

Chirrut hums thoughtfully, and Baze groans. “Chirrut,” he says, sounding put-upon, as if this is something that’s happened before. “Don’t do this, Chirrut.”

While Obi-Wan’s looking between the two, trying to figure out what Baze’s grimace is about, Chirrut pulls out a deck of cards from a pocket of his robes. _He’s been planning this,_ Obi-Wan realises, starting to understand Baze’s reaction. _How long has he been planning this?_ He’s only been at the Jedha Temple for a standard day; this is the first night, if he didn’t count the middle-of-local-night that he and Qui-Gon had arrived during. He’d only met Baze and Chirrut this morning, and they’d spent most of the day giving him a tour.

“Standard rules,” Chirrut says, and _wow_ Obi-Wan can hear the glee in his voice now. “Let’s play strip sabaac, Obi-Wan.”

The implied _Unless Jedi are too prudish_ grates at Obi-Wan, and—

He looks between the two young men, seeing the way they balance and support each other, and thinks, _If they want me to join them, if they think there’s harmony to be found here…_ and he says, “Okay. If you think we’re all wearing equivalent stakes, I’m in.”

Baze groans, burying his face in his hands and letting his long hair drape dramatically over himself. “I was counting on you to be the voice of reason, Obi-Wan,” he moans. “Chirrut’s going to take us for all we’re worth now.”

“Are you so sure?” Obi-Wan asks, propping his chin up on one hand. He meets Chirrut’s blind gaze. “Have you ever played a Jedi before?”

Chirrut grins. “Padawan, are you saying that the Force will let you cheat?”

“Are you saying you can stop me?” Obi-Wan shoots back, feeling the energy thrumming through the room now. “That’s half the game of sabaac.”

“Fuck. Shit. Kill me now.”

“Shut up, Baze.” Chirrut’s hands are sure on the cards as he shuffles them, but he extends a foot to kick the other Guardian apprentice. Baze twitches away without even looking, and Obi-Wan smiles at how easy they are with each other. “Obi-Wan, do you want to start?”

“I’ll deal,” Obi-Wan says mildly, extending his hand. “If you don’t mind.”

Baze lifts his head with a sigh. He’s trying to grow a beard, and Obi-Wan really hopes it’ll get better soon; right now it’s scraggly and not a good match with his beautiful long hair. “I’m glad you’re being smart about _something_ ,” he informs Obi-Wan, not even bothering to look at Chirrut.

Chirrut just sticks his tongue out as he passes the cards over, and Obi-Wan shakes his head, not bothering to bite back a grin as he deals their initial hands. “Let’s go,” he says.

As they play, he learns that the cards have been modified to chime when they shift, and Baze reads all the new numbers to Chirrut with the quiet ease of long practice. There are little bumps—braille, Obi-Wan realises after a hand—on top of the numbers, so that Chirrut can read them himself and play with brazen confidence. And more luck than Obi-Wan was expecting, as the cards shift in Obi-Wan’s hand and leave him with a far worse array than he’d initially expected. He frowns a little, but shrugs; he wasn’t expecting to win every hand.

But after eight hands, Chirrut’s still wearing all his clothes while Obi-Wan’s down to his pants and Baze is only two items better—his tunic and belt. Baze has kept his eyes firmly on the cards the whole time, but Obi-Wan’s pretty sure that if Chirrut could see he’d be looking at Obi-Wan’s chest every chance he got. It’s strange, but less uncomfortable to think about than he’d expected. Obi-Wan sighs at his hand and then says, “What’s the penalty, once I’m out of clothes?”

Baze looks at him, open shock on his face, and then looks at Chirrut with a deeply pained expression. Chirrut lays his cards down on the table and rests his chin on his hands, a beatific expression on his face. “Why, Obi-Wan.” He’s almost purring the words. “What makes you think I have something in mind?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face. “I’m beginning to suspect this was all a set-up.”

“Don’t—” Baze starts saying, but it’s too late, Chirrut already talking over him. “The rules we usually play with? The penalty, once you’re out of clothes, is a kiss. With multiple people, kiss goes to the winner’s choice of player—unless you’re uncomfortable with that?”

Heat floods Obi-Wan’s body at the thought. He knows his cheeks are flushed, and probably his chest is too. But he looks at Chirrut’s delight, and Baze’s resignation, and feels their honesty in the Force. And their desire, now that he’s listening for it, an undertow constantly flowing between them, threatening to suck him in too. He takes a breath, and then says, “I can accept those terms.”

He tells himself he isn’t going to try to lose the next two hands. He doesn’t do a very good job; he’s never been good at lying to himself.

When he loses his pants, Baze looks openly for the first time, a slow smile brightening his face as his eyes travel up and down his body. “Okay,” he says at last, not bothering to look towards Chirrut. “I see why you wanted to do this.”

Chirrut laughs. “Would it be an imposition to ask him to describe you to me, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan catches his breath, then looks at the cards on the table. None of them are playing the game anymore, he thinks; he can feel his own arousal slowly beating its way through his blood. So he looks at Chirrut and says, instead, “Wouldn’t you rather experience it yourself?”

Chirrut’s smile seems like it’s going to burst from his face as he stands, cards falling to the floor—some out of his sleeve, Obi-Wan notices, unsurprised—in his haste. “Can he describe you anyway?” Chirrut asks, moving over beside him in two smooth steps. “I like the way he describes beauty.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says, voice catching in his throat at the first touch of Chirrut’s fingers to his chest. “Okay.”

As Baze’s deep voice fills the space, Obi-Wan closes his eyes to better attend to Chirrut’s soft fingers and warm body. His body thrills at the inspection, and when Chirrut’s lips brush his cheek, he gasps—not in surprise, he felt it coming in the Force—but at the intensity of sensation. Chirrut pauses, and Obi-Wan manages to make himself just coherent enough to say, “It’s good,” so that Chirrut will continue touching him, continue—continue _propositioning_ him, he realises.

And then he opens his eyes, and meet’s Baze’s, and smiles, reaching one hand out to beckon him closer. Chirrut’s behind him as Baze steps in front, and Obi-Wan gently settles his hand in Baze’s hair. Baze grins, just as bright as his partner, and that’s all the agreement Obi-Wan needed to lean forward and kiss him, not very chastely, on the lips. Chirrut’s delighted laugh rings out behind them as Baze grabs Obi-Wan’s shoulder roughly to pull him closer, and Obi-Wan lets himself be wrapped up in their joy and the blaze of pleasure building between them all.

It’s late by the time they all fall asleep, naked and tangled together, and Obi-Wan feels like his body has been relaxed in a pleasure he’s never before thought to know.

 _If this is what Guardians do for fun,_ he thinks, as he drifts off to sleep, _I’m almost tempted to ask to join_.


End file.
